


ichor

by adrestiandove



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dermatillomania, F/M, More tags to be added as they become relevant, Post-Crimson Flower, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrestiandove/pseuds/adrestiandove
Summary: Edelgard has won her war for Fódlan's future. Now, she's realizing she wants to fight for her own future, too.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 17
Kudos: 41
Collections: Edelbert Week 2020





	1. opening scars

“I will not go to Shambhala,” she’d told him. “I would much rather avoid seeing any of _them_ ever again.”

His brow had quirked marginally upwards—a great deal of surprise, for Hubert. He had likely been preparing his fruitless but steadfast routine of attempting to convince her to stay off the battlefield (she was too important, it was too dangerous, she needn’t risk herself). 

She’d been tired that day. More tired than usual, and aching all over as if her bones were carrying the weight of a body much larger than her own. “I don’t need Thales dead by my hand. I just need him _dead_.”

It had felt nice at the time, the idea of being above any desire for personal revenge. Perhaps it meant she had already moved on. That she didn’t need some kind of closure from this.

The way her gut wrenched as she paced by her window made it harder to fool herself, now. 

Edelgard knew she could have sent no group of commanders more trustworthy and capable. Hubert, of course, had been preparing for this fight since far before the end of the last. Byleth, too, had committed herself to this war in the shadows without a second thought—she’d made her choice years ago, back in the Holy Tomb. And Lysithea, dear little Lysithea whose hair shone as white as her own, had none of Edelgard’s weariness in her eyes when she spoke of Those Who Slither in the Dark. Only fury.

But no matter how much she trusted them, no matter how capable they were, things could still go awry. Saints only knew what else the Agarthans were capable of. _Darker than dark magic_ , Hubert had said of their techniques once. And here she was, pacing by a window. It was out of her hands. Out of her control. It was unbearable.

Edelgard halted, growing irritated with the sound of her own heels on the floorboards. She fixed her eyes to the window and tried to imagine them in her mind’s eye. Lysithea, nimble and fragile and powerful, using every last breath to turn the wretched tool they’d made of her body against them. Byleth, cutting through them all like a demon, heart beating wildly, unshackled now from gods and monsters. And Hubert—she could not help but picture Hubert… smiling. Laughing. Contrary to a great many rumors, he took no particular pleasure in causing pain and suffering, only in the elimination of threats and obstacles. But these were not the mundane foot soldiers of the former Kingdom or Alliance. Hubert had been there to see Edelgard’s scars before they were scars, when they were still raw and new and bleeding in the aftermath of darker-than-dark magic erupting through her veins and splitting her open from the inside out. How could he not take pleasure in granting the perpetrators an end worthy of that memory?

The sensation of something dripping down her arm broke through Edelgard’s thoughts. She looked down. Her loose white sleeve was pushed up to bare the marred skin underneath, and there, fresh blood rose from where her fingernails had focused their thoughtless efforts. She’d been doing it again. A flash of anger and shame crackled through her. Why did she feel this disgusting compulsion to make those scars _worse_?

No, she didn’t want to make them worse, not truly. But the compulsion was still an utterly irrational one: deep down, some stupid animal part of her brain felt that if she picked and peeled away at them enough, she might be able to shed them for good. How foolish.

A knock rattled Edelgard’s door; she nearly jumped. “What is it?” she called out, sounding a bit more annoyed than she’d intended, hurriedly pushing down her sleeve to cover the smear of blood on her arm. It was small, at least, and already drying.

“Your majesty,” the servant announced as they swung open her door, “the Strike Force has returned.”

***

She was breathless when she reached the entrance hall, rushing down its grand staircase in a flurry of billowing white. Already, a swarm of servants and soldiers bustled around the palace gates, dismounting horses, checking injuries, shedding plates of dinged armor.

“El!” came a shout; Edelgard found a familiar hand waving above from the small crowd. A mess of teal hair surged through to meet her.

“You made it back! My teacher, you—no, of course you made it back,” Edelgard said, nearly laughing in relief. “I’ve seen you tear through the heavens to get back to us. Of course you did.”

Edelgard's arms raised haltingly, unsure. It still felt strange, opening up to physical touch after she'd spent so much of her life distancing herself from others in both heart and body. But her stilted approach was invitation enough for Byleth, who wrapped her arms around the Emperor without a care, pulling her into a warm hug that made her feel like a girl again, a girl whose sisters called her El as they held her and braided her soft brown hair. Her shoulders finally relaxed.

“The others—”

“Lysithea was injured,” Byleth said, blunt as ever. She pulled back, keeping her calloused hands on Edelgard's arms for reassurance. “It’s not mortal. She’ll recover. I’ve already had her sent ahead to the infirmary.”

Edelgard took a deep breath, nodding. They had all known the risks. A non-mortal injury was far from the worst news she could hear.

“And Hubert?”

A moment of hesitation and rough hands dropping away from her arms was all it took for Edelgard’s heart to catch in her throat like a stone. 

“I don’t know, actually,” Byleth admitted. “I know he survived the battle, but I haven’t seen him since. Not once the whole way back to Enbarr.”

Edelgard nearly sputtered, eyes wide. “I… one of the commanders of this mission went _missing_ and you didn’t question it?”

Byleth shrugged. “I assumed he had to split off to do… Hubert things.”

“Hubert things?!”

“Yeah, Hubert things. An extra secret mission, or something. He does that a lot.”

Seeing the growing panic on her face, Byleth brought a warm hand back to Edelgard’s shoulder. She softened her voice, adding, “I saw him take down Thales himself, El. It was all over after that. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Edelgard’s mind whirled, fluttering through an index of possibilities and contingencies, of worst-case scenarios, of anything they’d failed to plan for. Byleth squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Let’s go back inside. It’s too loud and crowded out here. We can have some tea. Or coffee, so he’ll be jealous when he finally shows up and there’s none left for him.”

Edelgard managed a small smile at that, and the two of them turned towards the stairs together.

***

Blood seeped from the dark holes where Thales’s eyes had once been.

Hubert stared down at him. His own eyes, pale and cold, blazed with something far more than hatred.

Thales was bound to a chair, his restraints wrought with neutralizing spellwork that rendered him powerless, and still Hubert felt at an infuriating disadvantage. Iron nails were driven through the Agarthan leader’s hands, pinning them to the arms of the chair. Great swaths of ashen flesh cracked and oozed where he’d been burned again and again and again. And still, he gave nothing.

“You have nothing more to lose,” Hubert said, dry and dispassionate as he could muster. “You might as well tell me what you know.”

“I have nothing to gain, either.”

“Except more pain.” Hubert shoved his hand over Thales’s face, flame erupting under his palm. Thales let out a mangled roar as the fire seared his raw, empty sockets.

Hubert pulled his hand away, exposing the newly mutilated flesh to the cold, stale air of the abandoned watchtower. “All your efforts for naught,” he drawled. “You will leave nothing of consequence behind. You will be forgotten. You will be _nothing_.”

His impatience was beginning to fray at the edges of his words. He knew he should not let it show. Any hint of desperation would only fuel Thales’ resistance. Hubert had spent years just barely keeping his outrage at a simmer, just barely restraining himself from boiling over, from ruining so many carefully laid plans just for the satisfaction of seeing this creature suffer as he’d made Edelgard suffer. It was like an inferno inside him, now. But he could hold out just a little while longer. He must.

Hubert drew his hand back and struck Thales hard against the side of his face, landing a blow where the skin was already raw.

Thales only cackled, spitting up dark blood. “You worms… have always been so ungrateful. I leave behind more than enough. _We_ gave humanity the power of relics. _We_ gave you salvation, we forged you an emperor out of a useless little girl, we—”

His throat choked up into still silence. More blood erupted from his lips, and a thin red line bloomed across his neck. After a moment, his head lolled heavy to one side, and slid from his shoulders to the ground with a dull thud and a gruesome crack.

Hubert breathed heavily, shakily. He was usually so measured about these things, so in control. It wasn’t like him to become so overtaken by emotion that he had no memory of casting a dark spike through Thales’s wretched neck just a moment ago, clean as a hot knife, the roar of an inferno ringing in his head. But he had, and that was that. Nothing else to be done about it.

Except, of course, to bring back a tribute for his Emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading so far!! i've had most of this first chapter written out for a while (along with an outline for the rest of this story); i'm glad edelbert week has given me the kick in the pants i needed to start posting this for real—in honor of day 5's theme, the future.


	2. dreaming of ghosts

The Imperial Palace’s northwest parlor rang with laughter and the delicate clink of porcelain. Great arched windows invited in tall rays of afternoon light, casting a warm glow where the Emperor and her once-teacher sat across from each other. A tea tray on the low table between them was generously laden with dainty pastries and cookies and merengues whipped into perfect peaks that seemed to shimmer in the light.

“I had half a mind to hold him back,” Byleth was saying, “but you know how Ferdinand is.”

Edelgard wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “Oh, of course. Anything you could have said at that point would only have made him dig his heels in further, I’m sure.”

Byleth nodded, chuckling. “You’re right. I said, ‘Well, I can’t stop you.’ And he agreed with great enthusiasm.”

“Poor Ferdinand,” Edelgard said, though she was still laughing into her teacup. “So that’s why he had that vicious welt on the side of his face just before the ball! I thought perhaps his beloved horse had finally had enough of his singing during stable duty and gave him a good kick for it.”

“To be honest, I don’t think Dorothea would have danced with him otherwise. She was delighted to see him brought so low.”

“And after he had been bragging all week about how eager he was to show off at the ball,” Edelgard giggled. “Yes, I think it warmed her to see him in such a humiliating state. Who would have ever thought then that those two would be getting married next month?”

Byleth only gave a small smile and nibbled on a cookie.

“In any case, I’m happy for them,” Edelgard said, voice softening as she idly swirled a spoon in her tea.

“I’m happy for you, too.”

Edelgard felt a flush creeping up her neck. The spoon stirring her tea clinked a little too loudly against the porcelain.

Byleth, ever perceptive, had been the first to notice the change between her and Hubert. Edelgard had always been exceptionally close to her trusted retainer, of course—they knew each other better than anyone. They’d been through so much together. They shared a bond few others could fully understand.

But, for most of their lives, there’d been a delicate wall between them, even as they walked side by side. On one side was written ‘master’; the other, ‘servant’. Lord and retainer. Emperor and minister. Neither dared breach it. Edelgard had never allowed herself to entertain notions of Hubert’s feelings for her as anything but a strong sense of duty and perhaps distant fondness.

Until the day he’d confessed, and the wall began to crumble.

Only in private, of course, or in hushed whispers, or fingers lacing underneath a table. Neither of them needed to say what they both understood implicitly: to the watchful eyes of the Adrestian public, the wall remained. Edelgard was the Emperor, and Hubert was no more than her faithful servant.

Unsurprisingly, however, their former professor could see it just in the way they looked at each other. It was not long before Dorothea, too, would raise a knowing eyebrow at the way Hubert’s lips lingered in a smirk on the back of Edelgard’s hand when he greeted his Emperor. And even Caspar, dense as he could be, began to suspect when the two of them arrived late to a council meeting—they were  _ never _ late—uncharacteristically disheveled and blushing to their ears. (Edelgard and Hubert had an implicit understanding after that incident, too: they ought to be more discreet, but neither of them wanted to promise they would be.) In retrospect, they could never have hoped to keep their affections for each other a secret from their closest friends.

“I… have been happy of late, too,” Edelgard finally managed, burning under Byleth’s smile. “Though perhaps ‘happy’ is an insufficient word for feelings I didn't know were possible to feel.”

“I understand that all too well,” Byleth said wryly, placing a hand over her chest, where her heart was—a real, beating heart now, no longer a hollow stone—and let out a short laugh. “Though maybe not in quite the same way.”

Months ago, Edelgard had gone to her for advice, only to discover that Byleth had just as much relationship experience as she did (that was to say, none). Not only that, but Byleth had apparently never so much as experienced any kind of romantic or physical attraction to anyone at all. It did not seem to have been an effect of her false, bloodless heart; for even after her true heart began to beat inside her, Byleth remained very much the same in that regard, she had explained. It made sense, Edelgard supposed. Just as some people felt drawn to men and women alike, some might feel drawn to none at all. She might have thought Hubert was that way, too, if not for his feelings for her.

The light through the windows stretched longer and longer across the room as Edelgard and Byleth drained their tea and demolished the plate of sweets between them. Their discussion roved from grand political plans to memories of their academy days, to palace cats, to what the rest of the former Black Eagles were up to these days—Dorothea was soon to debut in the starring role of an opera that she herself had written; Ferdinand was working on a plan for sweeping education reforms; Petra had returned to Brigid in preparation to ascend the throne, miraculously convincing Bernadetta to come along with her; Sylvain had taken up the seat of Margrave Gautier and pledged, quite sincerely, to do his utmost to help restore Fódlan’s north—the lands of the former Kingdom. Linhardt and Professor Hanneman were to begin their work at the new institute of Crest research that Edelgard had promised.

“Thankfully, the creation of the institute required little actual construction,” Edelgard said. “We found that the Western Church’s leading monastery here in Enbarr was crawling with Agarthan infiltrators—and of those who were true followers of the faith, at least half were complicit in embezzling church funds. Funds meant to go to the poor and the sick, the city’s orphanages… all into some corrupt bishop’s personal coffers instead.” Displeasure briefly twisted her face, as if she’d found something sour in the scone she was eating. “Needless to say, the monastery there has been dissolved, and we’ve reappropriated the building for what I hope will be a nobler purpose.”

Byleth nodded. “Lysithea spoke to me about it while we were on the road. She seemed more excited than she wanted to let on.”

“I do hope her recovery doesn’t keep her away for too long, for her own sake,” Edelgard said with a sigh. “I know it will drive her mad to be sentenced to bedrest while Linhardt and Hanneman begin their work without her.”

Byleth was about to agree with a mouth full of merengue when the parlor doors swung open.

“Your Majesty, announcing Shamir Nev—”

“Yeah, yeah, she knows who I am,” came the familiar monotone as Shamir brushed past the servant outside the door. Edelgard nodded and waved her hand, and the ruffled servant bowed out, closing the door behind him.

“Majesty. Professor,” Shamir said. She did not bow, and her perfunctory address of “Majesty” always felt like more of a nickname than an honorific, but Edelgard didn’t mind. The former mercenary had been serving as Hubert’s adjutant since the war, and if Hubert, of all people, trusted Shamir with his life, then Edelgard knew she had nothing to fear from the mild insubordination with which Shamir seemed to regard anyone and everyone. If anything, she found it refreshing.

And now more than ever Edelgard was thankful for that straightforwardness. She knew Shamir must be here with some report, and would waste no time in getting to the point. Edelgard worked to keep her face neutral as she wrestled down impatient bursts of hope and worry and distress. “Yes, what news?”

“Hubert wanted me to tell you he’s on his way back. Should be here by tomorrow morning. No trouble or injuries—he just had some things to take care of after the battle.”

“Ah, of course… Hubert things,” Byleth said with a too-pleased grin. Part of Edelgard wanted to give her a little kick under the tea table, but the rest of her was too relieved to care.

“So,” Shamir continued, “that’s it. Unless you need something from me, I’m heading straight to the kitchens. Could probably eat a whole hog right about now.”

“Thank you, Shamir, that will be all,” Edelgard said. “Enjoy your, ah, hog.”

Shamir nodded and left as abruptly as she’d entered, and Edelgard let out a long exhale.

“Seems you were right, as always,” she said. “How is it that you still have a sense for these things?”

Byleth only shrugged. “While we’re talking about how I’m always right—you should try to get some rest, El, now that you have one less thing to worry about. I know it’s early, but you’ve been wearing down your nerves all day. And…”

Edelgard caught Byleth’s knowing look with her own. “And you think I risk having another  _ episode _ if I wear myself down too much. Trust me, I have heard it all from Hubert already. It’s scarcely happened twice and now you all want to treat me as a fragile invalid.”

Byleth frowned, sadness palpable in her large eyes. “We’re allowed to be concerned, El. You’re strong, inside and out, but no one’s invincible.”

Oh, Edelgard couldn’t bear it when the professor got that look in her eyes. Only Ferdinand’s pitiful, watery stare rivalled it. Truly a rare skill.

“I suppose I do have to be prepared to hold court tomorrow,” Edelgard conceded. “Being well-rested will certainly be a boon if I’m to hear the conflicting petitions of four different merchant guilds, as I’ve been warned.”

“Five,” Byleth said. “We passed a retinue of Almyran tradesmen on the way in. Looked dressed to impress.”

Edelgard let out a groan. “Then, yes, you are correct yet again. I’ll need as much rest as I can get.”

***

Edelgard stood on her toes to close the curtains adorning the tall windows of her chambers. Hubert was better at this. Tugging at them from her comparatively diminutive height, she always felt more likely to tear the heavy velvet curtains than to draw them shut.

Any other high-born individual of less-than-high physical stature might call upon servants for such a task, but even Edelgard’s most trusted maids were not permitted in the Emperor’s bedchamber while the Emperor was present. It was a rule she herself had instated, and was very insistent upon; it would be irredeemably silly to break her own rule for the sole purpose of closing some too-tall curtains. And so she managed.

Her hair was loose across her back, though not brushed quite as finely as when Hubert did it. She’d worn a simple day dress today, no armored imperial regalia, so thankfully she was able to change into her cotton nightgown without dueling through a battalion of buckles and plate by herself. She rinsed her face and carefully washed the opened scar on her arm. It was already scabbing over, but still delicate; and her hands, though small, were not made for delicate work.

It was days like this, when he was off on some mission or another, that Edelgard thought that perhaps Hubert did his job  _ too _ well. His job, of course, was to serve her from the shadows. And he was always there, in the shadows of nearly every moment, easing her through the minutiae of the day, moving quiet as a cat. He did it so well, wove himself so softly into the fabric of her life, that she could sometimes feel alone even in his presence. The problem with all this was that when he wasn’t there, Edelgard was never quite prepared for the shock of feeling  _ truly _ alone.

She flopped herself into bed with an undignified sigh, wrapping the silk covers around herself like a cocoon. Hubert would be back the next morning. She only needed to sleep… 

_ “…fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! Ready or not, here I come!” _

_ Edelgard tears her hands away from her face, blinking into the sudden light. Her sisters’ laughs seem to echo all around the room, disorienting her. She allows her eyesight to adjust and scans her surroundings, searching for anything that might give them away. _

_ There. The lid of the grand piano has been pulled down, but it’s not fully shut. _

_ “Hmmm,” Edelgard hums loudly as she tiptoes over. She hears a giggle come from somewhere behind her, but continues forward, leaning over the piano. _

_ “I suddenly feel like… playing a song!” Edelgard brings her hands down on the piano keys, hitting a burst of discordant notes that elicit a distinctly human yelp from inside the instrument. _

_ “El!” Lycacia whines, pushing up on the lid and scrambling out of the piano. _

_ Edelgard grins and sticks out her tongue. “Serves you right. Father said we’re not supposed to use the piano as a hiding place anymore. You remember how Quintus almost broke it.” _

_ “Quintus is bigger than me!” Lycacia protests. “And besides, he wasn’t using it as a hiding place, it was for one of Alexander’s stupid dares.” _

_ “Don’t be a sore loser,” Edelgard says, lifting her chin. There’s a chastising lilt to her voice, even though Lycacia is four years her senior. Little El’s pretensions of authority seem to provoke another giggle from behind her; she turns to face it this time. _

_ Near the windows? Not the most creative spot, but worth checking just in case. Edelgard strides across the room and, one by one, shoves each curtain aside, but the floor behind each of them is empty. She figured as much, but then where else—aha! The overgrown fern in the corner. _

_ She swivels to “shh” at Lycacia, who raises her brows in response. Edelgard keeps her steps light and quiet as she approaches the vase. She made Hubert teach her how to sneak like this—mostly so she can slip down to the kitchens at night for a snack, or into the library when her mother expects her at tea with her insufferable uncle, but it’s a valuable tactic with siblings, too. She keeps her weight balanced on the balls of her feet as she parts the foliage, and… _

_ “Found me!” Wilhelmina concedes, grinning from ear to ear from behind the fern. “You’ve gotten too good at this game, El!” _

_ Edelgard allows herself a proud little smile at the praise from her oldest sister, but she isn’t satisfied yet. There’s still one more to find. Augusta is closest to her in age, which means she’s smaller than Wilhelmina and even Lycacia, and therefore has the greatest advantage when it comes to hiding. _

_ Wilhelmina climbs out from behind the fern to watch as Edelgard drops to the ground, scanning the spaces beneath the furniture. _

_ “I suppose she’s not behind the curtains, since I heard you checking behind them already,” Wilhelmina muses as Edelgard continues her search. _

_ “She’s not in the piano, either,” Lycacia adds. “That was  _ my _ spot.” _

_ Edelgard begins to grow frustrated, lifting each pillow and cushion, even opening drawers she knows are far too small for even Augusta to hide in. She’s checked everywhere in the room, at this point. Where could her sister be? _

_ “Augusta, if you snuck into one of the places I’ve already checked, you’d better come out,” Edelgard shouts, “because that’s cheating!” _

_ Her gaze darts around the room. All of a sudden, Lycacia is nowhere to be seen. _

_ “Willa, where did—” _

_ Edelgard whips around again. They’re both gone, she realizes. The grand double doors are still closed. When did they leave the room? How…? _

_ “This isn’t funny,” Edelgard says. She marches over to the piano, peering inside, but there’s no one there. She runs back to the windows and tears the curtains from their rods, leaving them in heaps on the floor. No one. She pushes aside the overgrown fern. No one. _

_ Edelgard begins to toss aside tables and chairs as if they were doll’s furniture, suddenly filled with a strength some part of her knows she’s not supposed to possess. She knocks over a marble bust of Ionius III and it cracks into white dust on the ground. There’s no one beneath the furniture, no one behind the bust. No one. _

_ “This isn’t funny,” Edelgard repeats, louder this time, but when her voice comes out of her mouth it feels strained and muffled. She rushes to the doors, rattling the handles, banging her fists. They’re locked, immovable. _

_ “Wilhelmina,” Edelgard screeches, though her voice sounds smaller and smaller the harder she tries to scream. “Lycacia, Augusta! Get back here! Get back here, this isn’t funny!” _

_ There are tears welling up in her eyes now. She doesn’t want to be a stupid little child, she doesn’t want to cry. She’s better than that. She keeps slamming her fists on the doors. When did the room get so dark? _

_ “Willa, Hubert, Father, anyone! Let me out!” _

_ She doesn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to cry, but she’s sobbing now. _

_ “Siegfried, Willa, Alex, Quintus, Gerhardt—” _

_ Edelgard turns around, and the room is nearly pitch black. There’s only one window now, high on the opposite wall, and there’s bars over it. Breathless, panicking, she fumbles around the shadows, trying to steady the sobs wracking her body. She can feel heavy tears dropping to the floor. She finds something, tentatively wraps her shaking hands around it. A broken chair. She picks it up and turns back to the locked door—it’s only one door now, and much rougher-hewn, nothing like the gilt-edged doors of the palace quarters she’s used to—and heaves the chair towards it with all her might. _

_ The chair shatters into splinters, and the door remains unyielding. _

_ Edelgard wants to scream, but nothing comes out of her throat anymore. She knows it’s futile, but she raises her fists to pound on the door again when something catches her wrists. _

_ Shackles. Cold iron shackles and a pair of chains that recede into the darkness.  _ No _ , she thinks,  _ not again.

_ They start to pull. _

_ “No,” she tries to say, voice dying in her throat, “no, let me go, let me out! Let me out!” _

_ The pull grows stronger. Edelgard attempts to plant her feet on the ground, firm as roots, but the chains pull and pull and uproot her, dragging her. The iron shackles dig into her wrists. The chains won’t stop. She can’t make them stop, that’s what she hates most. She can’t make them stop, can’t even scream as they pull and pull and pull her deeper and deeper _

_ into the cold and dark, _

_ alone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't originally going to end this chapter here, but the rest of it was getting longer and longer... and longer... so now we've got a dramatic nightmare cliffhanger, and i've got a big head start on chapter 3! hope you're enjoying, and thanks for reading!


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